Enough

I think most of us have mistaken "enough" for a place.

We spend our lives trying to arrive there.

When life feels less chaotic. When we finally have a routine. When we've read more books, remembered every birthday, called our grandparents more often, or become a slightly shinier version of ourselves.

Only "enough" has a habit of moving the finish line.

I've never met anyone who speaks to themselves the way they speak to the people they love.

We tell our friends they're doing beautifully. We remind them to rest. We point out all the things they're getting right.

Then we turn around and deny ourselves the same kindness.

Maybe feeling like we're not enough has very little to do with who we are, and everything to do with the voice we've grown used to listening to.

I wonder what would happen if we spoke to ourselves like someone worth loving.